Bobby is my daughter’s best friend. He is her love. He is her security. And the intensity of her feelings for this filthy scrap of fabric blows me away. The dirtier and smellier he gets, the more she loves him. She has this way of holding Bobby while she sucks her thumb, with one hand pressing the cloth up to her nose and the other hand scratching his satin border . . . and it is like there is nothing else in the world but her and Bobby. Nothing else matters.
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